


Bank on the Funeral

by Maesonry



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama, Drama & Romance, F/M, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Heavy Angst, M/M, Moral Dilemmas, Reader-Insert, Sacrifice, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-16 02:45:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19309036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maesonry/pseuds/Maesonry
Summary: It’s been three days since Jake Park disappeared, and no one seems to care but you.It’s been one month since Jake Park disappeared, and you’re going to get him back, or die trying.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blank_Ace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blank_Ace/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know those stories where the reader saves a character from the Entity? Yea that’s this but then I made it serious and morally grey and sad. Here you go

The Entity is bearing down on you. A hundred spiked limbs, clawing at the air, rubbing together to make an unholy noise. In the darkness of the forest, parts of it glow an ethereal orange, and you can take just the slightest bit of appreciation out of that. But then you blink again, and it’s getting closer, and you suck in a steadying breath as you pray- pray, that the sacrifice is enough. 

Anything to get Jake back.

With terrifying speeds, a single spike darts out, and before you can even attempt to strangle a scream, it presses against your forehead. Your eyes go wide like marbles and your make a choked noise, and suddenly-

At the will of the Entity, your life flashes before your eyes. 

 

————

 

 _”They’ve called off the search party_ ”

 

_-The letter was still on the table-_

_-She smiles a secret smile, just for you, and your heart twists with shame-_

_”No one cares-_ ”

 

There’s a horrible pulling sensation, like your mind is being tugged apart, and then you feel suddenly cold heat, as the Entity grabs a memory, and _pulls_ -

 

——-

 

It’s been three days since Jake has gone missing. Three days since you got that first horrible phone call, and now, you’re in the small kitchen of your motel room. As close as you can be to the search site without staying in Jake’s camper. There’s a milk carton out on the counter, forgotten, and your phone is clutched in your hands. 

In fact, you’re staring at your phone. Twice, you blink, then three times, but that vague mistiness in your eyes doesn’t go away. Something sour has curdled in your gut. 

It’s only a simple text message. Sent from Jake’s Mom, as concise as could be. Poignant.

Empty.

“They’ve called off the search.”

Five words- six, if you’re pushing it. Full of brevity and- and bitterness. Oh, and tears, plinking from your eyes and onto your screen. 

The phone is shaking now. Your expression is frozen, but it’s cracking, it’s fracturing like ice fissures at the edges and inside it feels just as cold. 

Finally, you break. 

“No- It’s not fair-“ and your voice cracks, “It’s not fair!” you yell. You want to thrash and scream, but it’s an empty room, and you’re so tired of pageantry. You settle for slamming your palms into your eyes, but, it’s too late- tears! Sobs clawing from your throat, and you can’t stop now, can’t pretend anymore, your voice raw and brutal as you struggle to keep it steady, “Why doesn’t-“ a sob slips out, headless of your frantic stifling, “Why doesn’t anyone care?”

No one cares. The news only cared for as long as his corpse was still warm, as long as it still had enough meat for the public to bite into. The police don’t care- ha! As if they ever did. And his own family, his own fucking father- his whole family, aside from his mother- none of them care at all. Mr. Park, CEO of a multi million dollar corporation, could only spare a single, fragmented sentence for his missing son. That Jake’s disappearance was, ‘shocking, but not unexpected’. That‘s it. No faces on the back of milk cartons.

The phone on the ground buzzes twice- once, an email, and one for a shipping notification. No one- aside from the single text- has messaged you for days. No one cares that Jake is gone, and it’s like the entire world has moved on without even knowing he had disappeared at all. A frank bitterness seizes you, striking in your blood, and you can’t control it- wails begin to seize you. Quiet sounding things, broken by smothered and pathetic keens, as you slide to the ground and grab your phone and, just, cry.

Jake Park. Missing and dead at age twenty four. Lost and never found. 

 

——-

 

You gasp like you’ve been dunked under frigid water, and the feeling is just like that, like sludge in your lungs, slowing your struggles, and you kick and thrash against whatever is happening-

_Be still_

And the sound of fabric tearing and hooks piercing your skin and you seize-

 

———-

 

It’s a sunny day- for once, at this campus. You’re actually enjoying your slow walk to class, as you toy with the idea of getting a pizza for dinner if you can splurge, and just as you’re about to enter the building, something catches your eye. It’s... someone is struggling to lock up their bike- and you snort a little, but hurry over, waving your hand.

“Hey! Need a hand?” 

He looks over to you. He’s got skin that’s been warmed by the sun, messy dark hair, and an outfit that screams ‘I just woke up’. You smile and roll your shoulders and accidentally catch his eyes- all that easy feeling leaves you like a punch, and your foot scrapes the pavement, words lodge in your throat.

Up close, you realize with a strangled feeling, this guy is out of your league. His eyes have this solid determination that makes you feel- alive. You finally manage to choke out a single sentence.

“What’s- your name, what’s your name?” 

His smile is relaxed, but tinged with just a hint of anxiety, as he replies, “I’m Jake Park.”

Jake. You clear your own throat and say your own-

 

——

_Yank_. If you had the ability to, you’d scream. Equal parts pain and shock from being torn away from the middle of the memory, but the Entity laughs with a hundred crow calls and hisses and embraces you like a mother like a lover and-

_Later._

No, you grab the memory, protective- it feels like a little firefly under your hands and you don’t want it to be seen and especially not by _This_ -

 

———-

 

The camper is quiet, and yet, you smile mischievously, creeping up behind Jake and then laughing as you poke his sides- he goes to the ground and then he takes you with him, and you’re both laying there, but your smile is a little more _different_ than before, and you whisper, “I love you,” and then you nose up to his neck and he’s grabbing your side-

 

——

It laughs it surely is a laugh now- and it is vicious and everything it shouldn’t be-

_Not that later_

It wants to know why you love Jake, and it’s going to break you apart to find out, but you just have to hold together until it’s over. You’re so close to Jake and you promised that you would get him back. You’re so close now-

 

——-

-you’re still waiting. It’s a quarter past mid day, and you’re in your usual spot in the lounge, sprawled across a couch by the window. Still, you glance at your phone, and then make a lazy, burbled noise. Where is he, anyway? 

Finally, you get tired of the waiting, and you stand up, intent on grabbing something from a vending machine. 

But then your phone rings.

You take the call faster than you can register, but that’s alright, because Jake’s the only one who calls you anymore. You step into the empty part of the room and you laugh into the phone, “Jake! Where are you?”

You can hear him breathing. It’s a shaky sort of sound. And you feel a confused tension in your own body, and then he finally speaks, “I’m dropping out.”

You don’t think you’ve ever heard him so relieved. Or so scared. Your next class is in five minutes, but you’re running to your car instead. You want to say something supportive or maybe cautious but all you manage is, “Your dad is gonna kill you.”

Jake’s laugh is fragile. 

“That’s nothing new.”

 

———

 

And then-

It’s the real world once more. You let out a sharp, soft cry, fall to the ground a little just to get some air. The Entity is still poised over you, and now, there’s crows staring you down. A trickle of blood is coming from your ears, from your nose, and you wipe them both away just to stand back up again. 

“Are you done?” your voice is firm but it cracks at the edges. Did it see all it wanted? Are your sacrifices _acceptable_?

A clicking sound, like a body rotting in reverse, and the Entity begins to curl around you. You bar your teeth and taste copper.

“Don’t even try it! You even fucking think about it, and,” and your smile is a warning and a promise, “and everyone in this goddamn world will know about you.”

You hold your phone out like it’s a trophy, like it’s the head of a fallen beast, and the Entity twitches and then there’s the sound of wood groaning and creaking. Every single thing you’ve learned about it, just waiting to be released, and you laugh cruelly, “Timed information release.“

A sudden, sharp pain, and you look down at your chest and see the spike protruding. There’s no blood, though. The probes in your mind are ripping and tearing and so you keep that brave facade up and let yourself be submerged in the past.

 

——-

_Where._

It follows the thread of thought. Finds the fabric edge, the memory edge, and then yanks with uncaring pulls and you unravel.

——


	2. Chapter 2

The search has been called off. And so, the woods are quiet. The storm that rolled in a few days ago is still going strong, all cold winds and sharp sounds against the metal of the camper.

You’re not supposed to be here. This entire area is police evidence now, but- but you honestly really couldn’t care less. Jake’s gone and Jake’s probably never coming back and you don’t know what’s worse, that you wish he was dead so you knew he wasn’t suffering, or that you wish he’d been kidnapped so at least he was alive. 

He has to be alive. You can feel that he’s still alive. Jake never- Jake knew this woods like his own hand. He has to be alive, and that means that someone took him, and that means... that means you have to get him back.

You’re rough as you wipe away your tears. Your smile is bitter and corrosive, and you’ve wrapped yourself in one of his jackets, and you’re inhaling the smell of coffee grounds, dirt, and whatever else he is made up of. 

“Gonna find you,” you mutter the promise like a prayer, hands clasped in the sleeves of the jacket, and that’s a promise you intend to keep. Come Hell or high water, you will find Jake Park.

You start your search. 

There’s still coffee in the coffee cup, and your last letter to him is out on the table. The plates have been washed. His satchel is missing. On the wall above one counter, you can see the map of the area- and there’s three little red X marks, randomly placed. You tilt your head, and narrow your eyes, and then carefully reach to the side of the map and slide out the paper that’s been tucked behind it. Unfolding it reveals a Missing Person poster. 

“Dwight Fairfield,” you whisper. The name doesn’t bring any recognition, but you’ve got a feeling now, “Last reported missing in...” in the woods. These woods. You look back up at the red x’s, and then you set the poster down, looking for the other two. You find one being used as a bookmark, and the other one lodged in between counters. 

“Meg Thomas,” and the other, “Claudette Morel.”

Meg went missing on a run. Claudette had disappeared from a bus stop not far from here. 

Three little red x’s on the map, and your smile has regained some of its cheer. Not much. Of course he’d been trying to help look for them. Now the missing satchel makes sense- he’d gone out to look, just a once more for the day. Never came back. The smile slips, but you’re studying the missing person posters now, and you quietly pull out the one of Jake that’s just been made. You spread them out on the counter and stare at each of the red marks.

“This one is closest,” you whisper, and the mark is about a ten minute jog. It’s near the edge- it must be Meg. Your eyes slide upwards, and off to the side is another, with a cabin. It’s near a river, “Claudette,” and the lonely red mark that’s near a clearing must be Dwight. You stare hard, and you stare for what feels like hours, and then the time finally comes when you pick up the red marker off the counter and shakily add your own x to the location of Jake’s camper. 

Somewhere in this square, you think, is where Jake went missing. Somewhere here is where something happened. He wouldn’t have gone far from camp, not at the end of the day. He should’ve been fine- these were familiar parts of the woods. You’d explored them with him before.

Somewhere in this square, you think, someone didn’t want Jake to find out what happened. Somewhere in this square is where they took him.

The night grows late. The rain has made you sleepy, in an apprehensive way, and the smell of Jake and the familiarity only compounds it. A part of your mind is whispering a warning- what if that person comes for you too- but you’re sad, you’re a little desperate, so the thought doesn’t scare you as much as it should. As you lay down to sleep and turn off all but one light, all you can think is, ‘good’. 

 

————

It’s been a week since you’ve come to Jake’s camper. In that time, no one has come for you, and no one has called you either. You’re missing classes now. You can’t find it in yourself to care. You have to find out what happened to Jake- you won’t give up. You made a promise, and you will never give that up.

You’re in town for now. It’s an incredibly small place, and as you sit at the diner, the waitress greets you by name. Another cup of coffee. The bitter taste doesn’t make you feel any better, but it makes you feel awake, which is all you needed it to do.

“Still working hard?” Celly asks, then titters a little, fills your mug. Your smile is wide but humorless, and you tap at one of the missing person posters. 

“Benedict Baker,” you whisper, “Went missing around the old MacMillan estate at least a hundred years ago.”

Celly is nice. She humors you, as she looks at the map you’ve made. There’s scratch marks all in the margins, and you smile a little too feverishly, “Did you know he disappeared the same way as these other people around here?”

Evan MacMillan: disappeared after snapping and killing all the workers. Philip Ojomo: disappeared, boss found brutally murdered. Sally Smithson: disappeared after snapping and killing everyone at the asylum. 

You gesture widely to another poster, then slap your hand down on the table, the coffee mug wobbling, “But Nea Karlson disappeared at the same asylum Sally Smithson worked at.”

Celly shakes her head in a well meaning way, “People disappear all the time, sugar,” and then she’s walking off, but you don’t notice. You can’t notice. You’re staring at Jake’s poster now, and you whisper though she can’t hear you.

“Not like this.”

The longer you stay awake, the more certain of this you are. The more you know it to be an absolute truth. You stare at the articles of Benedict Baker, and you cup the coffee cup like absolution, “You knew something, didn’t you? ...What did you see?”

He doesn’t answer, of course he doesn’t, but you’re going to get the secrets from the fragments of memory he left behind, and you’re going to get Jake back.

 

———-

 

Like shards of glass tearing up your insides, and you can’t even blink. You’re torn from the end of the memory by the Entity making another terrible laughter groan. The name Benedict Baker. Of course it laughs- of course. You want to scream and curse but it just presses down again, and your mind unravels once more.

 

———-

 

Three weeks. 

You’ve combed the forest. You’ve had to swap out your map of America to a map of the world. The red marks are in every continent, across entire countries. There’s notes crawling the margins and spilling around like rivers of ink and blood. There’s books on the counter that are older than you- not all of them acquired legally. You can feel yourself fraying; you’re so close to finding out the truth, so close. Can’t give up now, you made a promise. 

It’s another day. Maybe its a night. You can’t tell, and the curtains are always drawn, and the coffee you’ve bought must be a defective batch, since it doesn’t feel like it’s doing anything, even in triple doses.

“It’s here. It’s taunting me,” you make a sound like a horse’s whinny, “Stop it- stop! What am I missing?!”

If your research wasn’t so precious, you’d play at being dramatic and throw it all to the ground. But, no. Instead, you take some deep breaths, and then you open your eyes again. Your fingers are stained red. You hope it’s ink, and not blood. You press your eyes until you see stars, and then you relent, glaring at the map again, trying to pick apart its secrets.

“Something took all these people. I know it,” you whisper like reverence, “It’s been getting stronger.”

There’s roots of it in... every culture. Notably, African. The name Lisa Sherwood springs to mind and you flip through one of the books to find the right symbols, and they stare right back, taunting. Japanese culture has it too. And Russian history. There’s a smattering of classified US government documents that detail research into this unknown, and it ended with Herman Carter massacring his staff and disappearing too.

If you’re not careful, that’ll be you.

But you can’t give up now. You pour over the texts again, and this time, you linger on the half journal of Benedict Baker. Unfinished. There’s blood, ancient, on one page. 

At the very last page, it says, “The Entity.”  
You think you’ve found the name you’ve been looking for.

 

————

 

One month later, you leave Jake’s camper for the last time. All your notes are in your bags. And the bags under your eyes have relented too, just enough. Not enough to make you stop jumping at shadows, but enough.

It’s hard not to be scared of the dark, when you find out that monsters are real.

You’re riding the bus back to your college campus. The forest gradually turns to city, and you find yourself staring out at the grey, lost in thought. You fingers drum an anxious tune on your legs-

Ping. Your phone finally, quietly, voices completion, and you smile. All the information you’ve discovered, in one little, tidy file. All set up to upload across the Internet in the absence of the daily login key.

“Insurance, done,” you whisper, checking off that task. It’s the first on a very long list, but, it’s a start. One step closer to getting Jake back. You tug at his jacket and try to imagine he was here, and then you open your eyes in a tired sort of way, “Stay strong for just a little while longer, Jake.”

You don’t know what’s happening to him right now. But you know it’s something terrible, and you know it’s something worse than death. You know that you’re going to save him. You know that you cannot let anyone know what you’re going to do.

The second step on the list is to transfer to a different college. You steel your eyes again, and look out into the horizon. Transfer colleges. Make some friends. 

Make a deal.

Get Jake back. 

 

———

 

You’re not being embraced so much as you’re being strangled. But you still laugh in a horribly bitter way, all spite, despite not having air to breathe. The Entity rumbles with ferocity and you know that it cannot do a single thing to stop you. It knows that too.

_Fuck you_ , you say. It doesn’t reply. In this place between time, you feel that horrible sense of guilty triumph. It cannot kill you. It cannot keep Jake. It can only accept the two other souls you have brought, in exchange for your life and for his. 

Hand picked. Completely untraceable. A proper bargain. 

But the Entity is not done just yet. It wants to know one final thing: it wants to know about Cassie Williams, and Jason Shepard.

So you say, bitterness in your throat, _gladly_.


	3. Chapter 3

CCU is an upstanding University that accepts numerous applications from around the country. Your transfer is accepted, and a few quiet donations from your family ensures that your month of missed grades are forgotten for a clean slate. Your parent don’t mind- they simply send you more money for tuition, and then continue to ignore you as usual. 

The first day of class is refreshing and invigorating in a way that makes you forget, just for a moment, why you’re here. It’s fun to be anonymous, and making new friends and meeting new professors makes you feel free in a way you’ve haven’t in a while.

But you can’t forget for long. The freedom has a rope, and at the end of the first day, you’ve quietly moved onto the third item on your list: make one female friend, and one male friend.

It sounds easy. It should be easy. But it’s easy only up to a point, because they you always remember, cannot forget, that everything you’re saying and doing here is a lie. No one knows your real name. No one knows your real past. You’re a predator among lambs, because you’re looking for the perfect candidate to be your friend. It’s the only mercy you can grant. You’re going to find the most stubborn, willful, and courageous girl on the campus, and you’re going to become her best friend.

Because when the Entity takes her, that’s the least you can do.

 

——-

 

“I’m Cassie Williams,” she greets on your second day of class. You pause, and in that moment, you fabricate your entire personality to please her.

“I’m Ell,” you lie, “It’s nice to meet you!” 

You spend the entire class talking. You are bubbly where she is energetic, you laugh at her jokes, and you exchange every social media under the sun. At the end of class, you both wave goodbye, but already promise to hang out soon. In any other life, maybe this would’ve been genuine, and maybe it would’ve been the start of a beautiful friendship. But it’s a lie. After, you quietly slip into a bathroom, open up your phone, and search up every bit of information you can find on her. 

“Lives with her grandparents. One sibling, out of college. No pets. Farm volunteer. Spends most of her time at home, studying.”

No one would really miss her, then. That’s important.

And even though you don’t need to, you read a little more, dig the knife in a little deeper, “Two of four years done in an engineering degree.”

An engineer, you blink, but there’s a certain bitter acceptance, and then, the feeling of tears that won’t come, just a tightness in your throat and resignation. She would’ve been a great one, you think. 

Not enough to stop you. You wished it had been enough. But it won’t be. It never will be. 

 

———

 

Cassie Williams. Barbs around your neck, slicing into your skin, and you don’t back down. The Entity makes the sound of oceans echoing, and the pressure is the same too, crushing you from every angle, squeezing information as much as it can.

_She’s got a lovely smile and her hair is always tied back, frizzy and curly-_

_”What’s wrong?” she asks and you just cry-_

_Peanut butter. Cotton candy. Loves the fair-_

You feel awful. You feel like the worst betrayer on the world, and yet, that isn’t enough to make you not feel a sick kind of joy. What kind of person are you for that?

But then the Entity finds something else it wants to know, and you don’t feel the tears as it wraps and tugs and melts-

 

——-

 

Jason Shepard is everything you are not. He’s everything Jake was not. He’s tall and strong and a little shy, but friendly beyond compare, charismatic without meaning to, dumb as a brick but just as happy.

I’m going to ruin him, you think. It feels like sludge on your chest. It might as well be a knife. You say, “Hello. My name’s Ell, what’s yours?” and that is a noose as sure as any, custom made, just for him.

His smile hurts. You’re reading your own guilt in every line on his face, while his eyes only broadcast trust and love and everything else of goodwill. It’s an effort, to make sure your smile doesn’t show how awful you feel.

“The name is Jason Shepard. ‘S nice to meet you!”

He asks about your classes. He asks about how you like your professors, if they’re hard, what your major is. Gradually, you turn the conversation to him. You leave after an hour, with a phone number in your pocket, and a smile still glued to your cardboard face.

Jason Shepard is everything he says he is. He has a father, and two younger siblings. He works at a mechanic shop. He’s getting a degree in art. You wonder what kind of person he would have become, if you hadn’t showed up. Probably someone amazing. 

Yes, your heart says, without a doubt. 

 

———

 

Jason Shepard goes from acquaintance, to friend, to boyfriend, in increments of time. You’re the perfect significant other: you like everything he likes, you surprise him with things, and you tell him you love him whenever you can. 

There’s only one caveat, you say: please don’t tell anyone we are dating. Or, even that I exist at all.

It’s an odd quirk, he thinks. But nothing more. He accepts it, because you’re already perfect and this changes nothing-

And that’s how the forth step of your list comes and goes.

 

———

 

It’s been a year since Jake disappeared. You’ve been lying for a year- you’ve been lying, and you’ve been lying to yourself too, and it’s awful, you hate it, you hate that this is something you’ve had to do and you hate even more than you chose to do it.

At night, you wonder- did you love Jake? You think you did. You love him, or at least, what you remember him being like. You wonder if he still loves you, whenever he is.

You wonder.

And in the morning, you wake up, and put on the mask that is becoming more of a comfort by the day, and you step out to perform once more.

 

———

 

The Entity is growing tired- the Entity is groaning and muttering and watching you with acidic intensity. It hates you and you hate it, and this tale is soon coming to an end. You know it can’t hurt you. But you know that it wants to, and you want to hurt it, and it sees your systematic devotion to Jake and it can almost _taste_ it-

But it’s all coming together now. You’re tired too. You grab at your mind and shove your fists in, and then yank out the final piece, hold it like the head of Medusa, and drop-

 

———

 

“It’s all coming together,” you say, voice barely audible over the sound of the car engine. Your smile is pained. The mask hasn’t gone on yet, and it’s so hard to keep it together- pained combination of excitement and terrified guilt. You mentally pull up the almost last item on the list: surprise, secret camping trip. The one they don’t know is happening until now. It’s the weekend, and you promise that you’ll have them both back in time.

So that’s how Cassie Williams and Jason Shepard enter your car. They meet each other for the first time.

“Cassie,” you sound anxious, and it’s actually half true, “This is... my boyfriend. Jason.”

Cassie sizes him up, and then laughs, “How’s it going!”

Jason looks surprised too. But a relieved sort of surprise, that he’s finally able to tell someone about you, about the relationship, “It’s- it’s nice to meet you.”

You just grip the wheel tighter and tie down your own screams.

“We’re going camping!” you proclaim. A small road trip. They’re both excited, and the music is loud and there’s snacks and funny stories...

And you can almost fool yourself and pretend any of this is real.

But it’s not. It never was, never is. There’s a journal by Benedict Baker still in your glove box, a picture of Jake in your wallet, and, woods that you’re driving to that have been the epicenter of mysterious disappearances. 

You pull into the campground at dusk. They’re never going to see daylight again. You all laugh as you set up the tent, and then you pull out the sleeping bags, the food; you talk about what fun you’ll all have, how nice it is to get away from it all, how happy you are to be here.

They both agree. You’re getting eaten alive inside, you feel like you want to throw up, you want to pack up the car and just drive back, get them somewhere safe. You want to stop this. You should stop this. People care about them, and they have siblings, and futures, and-

And you’re going to take it all away. 

Night falls. Everyone lays down to go to bed. You stare at your friends, and your tears are exceptionally quiet, just as silent as how you slip out of the tent and into the woods itself. 

You don’t look back. You can’t. If you look back, you’ll stop yourself. 

Selfish. You’re so goddamn selfish. Jason loves you, Cassie trusts you, and you’re going to sacrifice them both, for someone you loved a year ago and you’re unsure if he’ll love you back. For one of the most resourceful people you know; if anyone could survive in that place for eternity, it would be him, and yet you’re selfish and you just- you want him back. You just want him back.

You made a promise. And you’re the only goddamn person in the world that cares about him. You promised, and now, you will.

You step into a small clearing, go down to your knees, and beginning sketching the symbols from the book in the dirt. 

A moment later, pure silence. No birds, no wind. You wonder if something went wrong, and then, suddenly- 

The Entity is bearing down on you.

 

 

——-

Past to present. The world snaps back into focus, and you’re as you are and as you were and as you will be. The forest is dark, and you look up, at the Entity, at the Darkness. Wisps of fog trail behind it. Snaking into the woods, into the place where your two friends are asleep. 

Your face is carved from stone, but even mountains weep.

One moment, two, and then there’s a sudden sound of bones snapping and flesh breaking and, a scream, two. Screams that pierce the forest and you can hear them both, and one of them is shouting for you, as if warning you, or something formless. You cannot tell, because you don’t want to know. The snapping sound again, and then-

Silence. Absolute silence. No birds, no wind. The crows are all soundless as they stare at you and pass judgement. The Entity seems to collapse into the air. The Fog envelops you, and you wonder, for a moment, if you will share their fate.

But then it clears. The moment has passed. The Entity is gone, and now, darkness returns.

No. Not quite. One final patch of Fog lingers, and you quietly, carefully creep forward towards it. Your hands are shaking. Your eyes are wide. You hold your breath and the Fog drifts away, and...

Your voice cracks and shatters, and you whisper the name, the truth, “Jake.”

 

 

——-

 

Jake is in your arms, as you walk. Fearfully, cautiously, you step across the ground. Dead leaves crunch underfoot. Twigs, occasionally snapping, the sound causing you to flinch with memory. But never enough to even so much as jostle Jake. No. You’re so frightfully careful. Afraid.

Jake is just as you remembered him. He’s got a face with skin warmed by sunshine, and messy hair, and he’s even wearing the same jacket as you saw him last. But the scars are new. Yes, the dirt and grime, and, the blood. Your breath hitches and you feel even more uncertain. Blood on his face, his jacket, his pants. Scars trailing down his shoulder. You squeeze your eyes shut and just try to hug him as light as you can, and your chest is shaking, your voice wavering, tears threatening to breach the surface.

You stop at the camp. Jake is safe, Jake is here, but you wonder if it was worth it, as you stare at the tent. There’s no sign of a struggle. Everything is as you carefully arranged and left it. There’s a little crow, calling from a nearby tree, and you avert your eyes with... with shame. And guilt. The guilt is only made heavier by the body in your arms. 

Second to last step on the list: sacrifice them. Last step: get Jake back.

“List complete,” you whisper, voice stolen by leaves and wind. You turn away so you don’t have to think about what you’ve done, not anymore, and instead, you focus on the walk back to your car. You focus on Jake. 

Jake is here. Jake is safe. 

You kept your promise.


	4. Chapter 4

You drive slow. This late at night, no one is around, and you make extra certain that no one sees you pull into this motel. Far enough away that no one suspect you. 

You hesitate to leave Jake alone in the car while you get a room- you’re scared. But you’re always scared now, so you just promise to go quickly, and so you do. One room later, and Jake is carefully laid on the bed, and you’re. You’re, well, crying. In a bathroom. 

There’s a headache behind your eyes. There’s still blood in your ears, from your nose, stained your jacket and crusted in your hair. Your pants are torn at the knees. There’s mud and dirt and some kind of black ichor, burned into the fabric, into your skin. Your fingertips brush the mirror like you’re some kind of monster just waiting to jump out.

No. No, not a monster. You’re only human. Just a human presented with an impossible choice- one you’re not sure if you made the _correct_ choice on. It doesn’t matter now, does it?

You scrub the blood from your face and the black from your fingers, and it takes two sinks full of murky water before you’re even passably clean. You wonder if some of these will scar.

At the third scrub, though, and as you’re seriously deliberating a fourth, you hear the sound of springs shifting. The bed. And then you shoot up and tear out of the bathroom, and your eyes are wide and tremulous but you whisper his name with hopeful trepidation, “Jake?”

Jake stares back.

It seems like a century. It could be a century. You hold his gaze and he holds yours and the only reason either of you stop is because you notice that he’s starting to panic. The telltale frantic breaths, his eyes darting around. You’ve seen it in yourself enough times to see it in him. 

“Jake, it’s- it’s alright now,” you plead, slowly, carefully padding across the floor to him, your palms up, “You’re safe.”

“What-“ he doesn’t believe you, you can tell, “Where am I? What’s going on?”

The memory of Cassie and Jason burns into your mind, and you reply, “I got you out. Jake, you’re out. You’re safe. _Jake._ ”

Your voice breaks at the end. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him, or heard him, and even though he’s covered in blood and grime and tears you can’t help but want to reach out, and hug. Just like old friends. Like before. When your biggest problems were what kind of pizza they had in stock in the cafeteria.

“It‘s not-” he’s whispering, but not to you, “No.”

You don’t know what to do. So you squeeze your eyes shut and you rush forward, and then, just as you bring your arms around him for a hug, he lets out a terrified scream. Like he thought you were going to hurt him. No. No, you just hug him. How long has it been since he’s been hugged? He’s still the same Jake. He still smells like coffee grounds and dirt and whatever else, and you’re trembling as you hug him. He’s shaking too. His arms haven’t moved from his sides, and he’s still panicking, still scared, but-

But it slows down. He gingerly leans his head on your neck. There’s a brief inhale, and then he stutters in breathing, before he seems to relax into the embrace and even slowly raise his own arms up a little. You take that as an okay to squeeze a little harder. 

“Jake, Jake,” your voice is scratchy, “Jesus Christ. You’re safe, you’re here, I promise, ‘s okay-“

And you continue on and on. Like you don’t even believe it either. You’re afraid that if you let go, he’ll disappear again. He holds you like he’s afraid of that too. In the comfort of a dingy motel room, for the first time in years, Jake feels safe, and free.

 

———

 

Sleep is fitful, for the both of you. Jake hasn’t slept the entire time he was... wherever he was, he says. He lays on the mattress like it hurts. The sheets are stained with mud and blood and grime, just like your clothes- you’ll pay for it in the morning. For now, there is only sleep. 

Nightmares for the both of you, in equal measure.

You wake up at dawn, and Jake is already awake. He’s staring at the sunrise like it’s the most beautiful thing on Earth. And he turns to you, dappled with daylight, and there _are_ tears in his eyes, “This is really it.”

Guilt. You know that Cassie and Jason will never see the sunlight again. 

Breakfast is graham crackers and water. You never thought so far ahead, about what you’d do if- when Jake came back. And you offer to go out to get something more, but the idea if you disappearing jolts him with terror. And going out together to grab food is- neither of you are ready to see people. Not yet. 

So it’s crackers and water. And it breaks your entire heart when Jake is so, so goddamn grateful for even this. Like the water is the best thing he’s ever drank, like the graham crackers are spun from sunlight. You want to ask, what did they do to you. But you don’t want to ruin the moment. You want to enjoy this for just a little longer, before he asks how you saved him, and you have to tell the truth.

And so it goes. 

 

———

 

Neither of you can sleep tonight. The sun stretches lazily on the horizon, like the world’s brightest oil lantern, finally flickering out. The bathroom light is on. You’re both on the bed. Jake’s wearing a change of your clothes, and you’re both curled up close, wary.

You break first.

“I’m sorry,” it’s a slightly desperate plead, and you close your eyes to try and block out the images of your two former friends, “I’m sorry. I had no choice.”

“What?” Jake is always careful. His voice fumbles around, trying to pull you back, but he can’t. 

“I figured it out. The Entity,” you open your eyes and certainly do not flinch or cringe, “Figured out how to get you back.”

Jake just waits. You try to make yourself smaller, smaller still, but it never quite works, and you just end up bringing your knees up a little and turning your hands into fists, “Equivalent exchange.”

You don’t want to have to say it. You don’t want to have to say, I gave away two people just to get you back. Jake’s smart enough that he doesn’t need to have it said. He hears the words and lets it settle, sediment in a river, and then his own voice creaks, “Why?”

You jolt. Why? Why- because, because he was important. Because you had deemed him more important than them, no matter how awful that is, and you couldn’t bear to think about the world that didn’t care he ever existed. “Because, I love you.”

You shout it without meaning to. You lay back down, and you’ve been wearing the mask for so long, so so long- you can’t anymore. Not with him. 

No. 

So you lay back down and put your face in your hands and sob. Ugly sobs. You e been crying a lot lately, and this just takes the cake, disgusted sobs at what you did, and shame, and, relief. All together.

Jake’s the best friend you’ve ever had, though, and he hugs you this time. He’s the one telling you it’ll be okay. And if his voice is shaky too, no one is going to mention it.

 

——-

 

Two days later, on the road, as you’re driving back to your apartment-

Jake finally talks about what happened.

You didn’t want to pressure him. You didn’t want to ask him what it’s like to suffer a fate worse than death. And maybe you also didn’t want to know just what you’d condemned your friends to.

“It was just the four of us at first,” he says, “Me, Claudette, Dwight, and Meg.”

The people from the posters.

Jake pauses. Considers his words, “And three others: the Trapper, the Wraith, and the Hillbilly.”

Those aren’t names, you think. Not names you’d give your friends or allies. He seems to be staring at the air, like he’s waiting for something to jump out, “They were the Killers. They’d. Hunt us down, and-“

You accidentally slam the breaks. You grip the wheel and imagine the Entity spearing you again, and your breathing stills, and then you’re rambling, “Sorry- I’m sorry,” the car returns to speed. You fight the urge to squeeze your eyes shut.

You ask, “How many? Were there?”

Neither of you can see one another. It makes it feel like you’re just saying things, a million miles apart. The guilt is lesser when you can’t see the others face. 

“I don’t know. Twelve Survivors, maybe. Just as many Killers,” and then Jake stops, looks at you, “How- how long was I gone?”

“A year,” but you don’t add that you think maybe it was even longer for him. Maybe time passes differently there. 

“Did anyone. Look for me?”

No. 

You bite down on the instinctive bitterness, “Yes.” You can see that he wants more of an answer, though, so you teeter around it for a moment before replying, “The police, for a while. But your mom never gave up.”

He wants to ask about his father. That familiar bitterness between both of you, and you don’t want to have to tell him, confirmation for an injury he’s already sustained. Your eyes flit to the left.

“Your father didn’t do anything.”

Nothing more on that. 

Instead, you ask him more about the other Survivors. He tells you about Claudette, Meg, Dwight. He tells you about Nea Karlson, Laurie Strode, David King.

A part of your guilty mind whispers, “Why didn’t you try to save one of them instead?” 

You know the answer. But you say nothing.

 

——-

 

It’s Monday. The light streams in through open windows- everywhere there’s sunshine, not a hint of shadow. The headache is less, but it still hasn’t gone away. Sometimes you worry about what that means. Mostly you ignore it.

The tv is on. It’s a nice, soothing background noise, with the birds and the sound of a lazy fan whirling through the air. You’re not in class today. You’re not going to be going back to class at all, actually. It shouldn’t be unexpected that two students mysterious disappearances makes some other students transfer or drop out. 

Right.

Jake is on the sofa. You’re also on the sofa. But you’re looking at the tv, too, and watching from the corner of your eye.

News report. Two college students mysteriously disappear. Reports suspect they were dating, and went into the woods to spend time with one another. No additional information or suspects are available at this time.

You turn the tv off, just as they show twin pictures of Cassie and Jason, and just as your guilt dissolves another part of you. You should be tired of feeling this way. You feel tired. You feel exhausted. But Jake is here- he’s really, really here. And you’re just.

Happy.

So you settle back down, and set the remote on the armrest, and imagine a future made of only daylight and dawn.


End file.
